


Moons

by Northumbrian



Series: The Lavender/Moon Tales [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst and Humor, Aurors, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Horror, Humor, Monsters, Mystery, Nudity, Post-Battle, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Tension, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northumbrian/pseuds/Northumbrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 2010, twelve years after the battle. What should have been a relaxing night out for one member of Dumbledore's Army turns into something else. It was supposed to be a fairytale evening: it is, in a Grimm sort of way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inclination

**1\. Inclination**

‘We used to be able to do this whenever we wanted,’ said Lavender wistfully as she shuffled slowly along with the multitude.

‘There are a lot of things we used to be able to do whenever we wanted,’ Mark reminded her. He slid his arm around her waist and squeezed her gently. ‘Like sleep,’ he added with a wry smile. Lavender smiled back at him and rested her head against his arm.

They continued to move slowly towards the exit until the crowd leaving the New Globe Theatre suddenly stopped. Lavender Moon could see nothing but the enclosing mob, and she hated being hemmed in. Mark, however, had the advantage of height; he could see over the stationary throng. Even in four-inch heels, she barely reached his shoulder. She looked up at her husband and raised her eyebrows enquiringly. They had been together for more than five years; she didn’t need to speak. Mark caught her look, stood on tiptoe and provided the information.

‘It’s busy, that’s all,’ he assured her. ‘They’ve already started moving again at the front. We’ll be outside soon.’

Within moments, the crowd again began to progress. They slowly inched their way out from the theatre and onto Bankside Jetty. Mark guided Lavender out from the horde and over to the Bankside Pier. For a few minutes, they leaned against the railings; they gazed, unspeaking, out over the Thames, each thinking about the matinee performance they had just left.

The pungent smells of the city were a heavy spice on the unmoving air, and the lethargy-inducing heat was unsparingly sticky. They watched the river flow sluggishly seaward. The post-solstitial sun hung high and bright to the west, its midsummer glare creating sparkling iridescences on the slow and tired old Thames.

‘“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown”,’ quoted Lavender, breaking their contemplative silence. Unlike her husband, she wasn’t good at silences. ‘He was a smart man, that Muggle.’

‘He was, but I still prefer his funny stuff,’ replied Mark dryly.

Lavender laughed, turned towards her lean and lanky husband and threw her arms around his neck. She tried to pull him down for a kiss, but Mark resisted. Instead, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up to sit on the railings. Once she was seated, and almost his height, he bent forwards. They kissed a long, lingering, gentle and familiar kiss.

‘I’ve made a damn good kisser out of you, Emms,’ murmured Lavender boastfully when they’d finished.

‘I’m no’ so sure,’ said Mark. ‘I think that I probably still need a _lot_ more practice.’

Lavender laughed and hugged him. He enfolded her in his long, lean arms and she relaxed into his enveloping embrace.

‘Happy anniversary, Mrs Moon. Two years as a married woman. How does it feel?’ he asked. His soft Scottish brogue was little more than a whisper of warm breath on her ear.

‘It’s not two years until tomorrow, Mark. Three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, but—so far—I have no regrets.’ Lavender wriggled in his arms in order to look at her wristwatch. She looked thoughtfully into her husband’s eyes.

‘What now, Mark? We’ve got almost four hours before the moon rises,’ she asked.

‘Come with me,’ Mark told her. He lifted her down from her perch and placed her gently on the ground. Hand in hand, they meandered slowly along the South Bank.

They were reminiscing about their wedding day as they passed HMS Belfast. The conversation was, as usual, one-sided. Lavender was chattering away twenty to the dozen and Mark was interjecting the occasional, usually dry, comment. By the time they were crossing the Thames, at Tower Bridge, they had finished with their honeymoon; the discussions about that three week long trip to the USA had resulted in them stopping four times to kiss, with ever increasing passion.

The Tower of London imposed its presence ahead of them as they crossed onto the north side of the river. Mark ignored it, and the moment they turned away from its pale crenellated walls Lavender knew exactly where they were going. She slipped her hand into the back pocket of her husband’s chinos.

‘You really are a sentimental old thing, Mr Moon,’ she told him.

They walked along the North Bank, into St Katherine’s Dock and towards the huge building, a former spice warehouse, which was now the Dickens Inn. They stopped in the courtyard outside the inn, at the point where, two and a half years earlier, Mark had rather clumsily proposed.

‘Too late to say no, now,’ Mark told her.

‘As I said, I have no regrets, Mark. Do you?’ she asked. ‘No regrets at all! Even though all I got was a lanky Scottish scruff with no dress sense. Fortunately, these days, and thanks entirely to me, you are acceptably well-dressed. In fact, you’re almost smart.’

‘I was smart enough to marry you!’ observed Mark. Lavender pursed her lips and stared up at him, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. She wasn’t sure whether he was complimenting her or teasing her.

‘That’s not very smart,’ she said eventually. ‘All _you_ got was Lavender Brown, the notorious werewolf Auror.’

‘The notorious Lavender Brown is long gone, isn’t she?’ Mark asked. ‘Lavender Moon hasn’t done anything to get her name into the papers … except…’ His face creased into a worried frown and he stopped in mid-sentence.

‘…except when Violet was born. Almost dying in childbirth seems to have been the most newsworthy thing I’ve done since I met you, Mark. But I’m still an Auror and I’ll always be a werewolf, and those two things are enough to make me notorious, even without everything before,’ said Lavender. She watched her husband pondering her past.

He said nothing, apart from, ‘That was before you met me.’ He never did, so she slipped her arm around his waist and hugged him.

‘Do you think that Violet will be all right tonight, Mark? Are we cruel parents?’ she added worriedly. Mark smiled.

‘Your mum and dad will be able to manage a ten-month-old baby until tomorrow, Lavender,’ he reassured her. ‘You saw how excited they were. Your dad has been a constant surprise to me ever since Violet was born. He comes across all serious and stern and strong, but he must have been up in their attic for days, finding all of your old toys and cleaning them.’

‘I didn’t even know that he’d kept them,’ admitted Lavender.

‘Violet will be fine with her grandparents. I can manage to look after our baby girl on full moon nights. They will have no problems, and if they do, I’m certain that they’ll contact us. Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They brought you up all right.’

Lavender snorted in disbelief at his last remark.

‘You had a few difficult years, but you are a lovely person and I love you,’ Mark told her.

Lavender decided that it was time for another kiss.

‘What a nice man you are, Mark. Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you.’ At that remark, Mark looked very satisfied with himself, so she impishly added, ‘But most of the time I think that sensible, predictable _you_ don’t deserve someone as gorgeous and perfect as _me_! Have you booked a table in the restaurant?’

Mark took her hand and they walked towards the huge wooden building.

‘What do you think the plan is, gorgeous and perfect wife?’ he asked, with only a hint of teasing in his voice.

‘I think that you considered booking a table, but the day you proposed we hadn’t booked, and there weren’t any tables available so we made do with eating sausage and mash in the beer garden. So…’

‘You’re right, Lavender, I thought that we’d do what we did before I dragged you out here and proposed.’ Mark looked a little sad. ‘I _am_ predictable! I don’t mind being nice and sensible, but…’

Lavender scampered up the steps, ahead of her husband. She stopped when she was two steps above him and turned to face him, almost at his eye height.

‘Oh, Mark, don’t be upset.’ She stared into his face, a spark of mischief in her eyes. ‘I know! If you don’t want to be predictable, you can be reliable or dependable, instead,’ she suggested. Lavender pulled her husband into a hug and wriggled into him, resting her chin on his shoulder and pressing her chest firmly against his.

‘I rely and depend on you, and reliable and dependable are very similar to predictable, but they sound a lot nicer for some reason.’ She lifted her head and slid her cheek along his. Her tongue darted out and flicked his earlobe. ‘But if you fancy something unpredictable, that’s fine too,’ she murmured provocatively. ‘Kitty needs her cream, and tonight, Violet can’t interrupt. We can have an unpredictable night, an exciting night, a wild night.’

‘I always look forward to wild and exciting,’ said Mark. ‘But it’s the full moon tonight, Lavender. We need to eat and we need to be home before dark, before you change. Do you want to go home now?’

‘We don’t need to go home,’ she whispered. ‘We could use a Disillusionment Charm and be wild right here, we’ve done _that_ before. Or, we can leave as soon as we’ve eaten,’ said Lavender.

‘Main course here, followed by dessert at home,’ teased Mark. ‘That’s what we did the night we got engaged. I saw the strawberries and cream at the back of the larder, Lavender. You didn’t hide them very well. So that makes _you_ predictable, just like me.’

Lavender pulled a face and then grinned mischievously. ‘If you don’t want to eat my strawberry surprise, Mark, I’ll just have to improvise. I’ll be able to think of something wild and different for you when I get you home.’

He grinned, kissed her and escorted her into the busy pub.

They found a small table in the beer garden and Mark went to the bar to order their food and to buy drinks. While he was gone Lavender twisted sideways in her seat, leaned against the weathered wooden rail and looked out over the marina. She watched in fascination as the Muggles went about their business. She was watching an obviously wealthy, and just as obviously nautically inept, couple failing to moor a large yacht when Mark returned with pint and a half of Bombardier bitter.

‘Which one is mine?’ Lavender asked in mock petulance.

‘Whichever one you want,’ he replied evenly.

Lavender took the half pint glass and sipped the beer. She turned her attention to her husband and next hour passed in quiet, relaxing conversation, teasing banter, and a little familiar flirting. They had almost finished their meal when Lavender leaned languorously across the table and whispered, ‘Who has just sat down at the table behind me?’

Mark stared over her shoulder at the table. ‘Three guys, all quite a bit younger than us, early twenties, I’d guess,’ he told her.

‘Keep your voice down and don’t make it so bloody obvious that you’re looking at them, Mark.’ Lavender spoke in an annoyed and commanding undertone, but smiled sweetly, as if she was still flirting with him. ‘Don’t stare, and don’t look so confused; just look at me and smile. Pretend that you like me, and tell me what they look like.’

‘Why?’ Mark asked. He tried to do as he was asked, but merely managed a false and contorted grin.

‘The closer the moon gets to the horizon, the more my senses heighten. I can smell an unpalatable amount of perfume. The stench is almost overwhelming, but behind it, I can smell hag,’ Lavender whispered.


	2. Perturbation

**2\. Perturbation**

‘A hag?’ asked Mark, his eyes wide and his face creased in frank disbelief. He spoke so loudly that Lavender heard the three young men behind her fall silent and shuffle their chairs. Lavender rolled her eyes and smiled resignedly at her husband.

‘You really are completely useless when it comes to the undercover stuff, aren’t you Mark?’ she told him in a whisper.

‘They’re just three young Muggle kids, Lavender,’ replied Mark quietly.

‘Three _excited_ young Muggles, and the smell of a hag!’ Lavender corrected him. She looked at her husband thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what they are doing?’

‘Why should they be doing anything?’ asked Mark.

‘Because they are, Mark!’ said Lavender softly. She was beginning to get exasperated. ‘I can smell excitement on them, and arousal too. They’re youngsters—teenagers—they’re all raging hormones and no common sense, just like we were at that age.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Mark.

Lavender ignored him, and pressed on. ‘They’ve met a hag, and at least one of them is aroused; that’s just wrong. Even _you_ know how wrong that is. Hags might look like ugly old crones, but they aren’t! They aren’t even human, they’re dark creatures! And they are not supposed to interact with Muggles, because some of them still believe that it’s perfectly acceptable to eat people.’

‘Are you certain it’s a hag you can smell?’ Mark murmured, concernedly.

‘Positive. I have the nose of a wolf, remember.’ Lavender tensed, bared her teeth, and looked ready to spring at him. Mark’s worried expression forced her to rein herself in.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Mark; sometimes I forget that you can’t smell everything I can. You know that this close to moonrise I can almost see the things I smell. Fifteen minutes ago, I could have told you that the guy two tables across had just farted, and that the barmaid who cleared our plates was menstruating. I smell _everything_ , particularly now, when the full moon is only hours away. But, since those three kids arrived, I can’t smell anything except cheap cloying perfume and hag. The stench of a hag clings to everything she touches. But hags always hide from Muggles, unless they are up to something, and this one is! She’s using an indecent amount of perfume.’

‘Using too much perfume isn’t a crime, Lavender.’

‘It should be!’ Lavender spoke with absolute certainty. ‘Especially the stuff she’s been using, nasty, inferior and very smelly; it is _almost_ masking everything else. I can hardly smell your aftershave because of it, and you’re wearing my favourite one. Do you mind if we have another drink? I’ll go to the bar. I want to walk past the Muggles and take a good look at them.’

‘This isn’t the sort of excitement I had in mind,’ Mark told her, smiling ruefully. ‘But as it’s almost our anniversary, I’ll let you do whatever you want.’

Lavender caught the edge in his voice when he spoke the last sentence and felt a pang of guilt. She almost always got her own way with Mark; he was so easy to persuade.

‘This could be important, Emm-Mmm,’ she murmured his initials in a low, throaty purr, using a pet-name she usually only used during their more passionate moments. Her attempt to wheedle a smile from him succeeded. ‘It’s the thrill of the chase; you know how I like that. And it’s turning you on, I can smell that too. Emmsy Lavs his vender-ful girl; he Lavs it when she’s naughty, and exciting!’ Mark rolled his eyes in resignation, silently reached across the table, and gently caressed her cheek. Under the table, Lavender rubbed her foot up his calf.

‘You win, La-vender-ful girl. You always do. But if you _are_ going to the bar, I’ll just have an orange juice,’ he said.

‘Good idea; no more booze for me, either,’ she agreed. With that, Lavender stood. She swayed slinkily away from her husband and through into the bar.

While she waited to be served, she checked her watch. The moon would rise in a little over two hours. She could feel its pull growing stronger by the minute. She still had time, she assured herself.

The new Wolfsbane Potion she carried in her handbag had no significant side effects. Unlike the one Professor Lupin had used, the new potion did not cause tiredness or lethargy. Unfortunately, it did not prevent the physical change either. Indoors or out, if she concentrated, she could ignore the pull of the moon and hold her human form after moonrise, but only until sunset. Unfortunately, tonight sunset followed closely behind moonrise. She had, at the most, two-and-a-quarter hours.

The potion allowed her to retain her mind and control the beast. Despite that, the law said that she should be indoors and in a locked cage once the moon was full. Some werewolves thought that it was unjust, but Lavender had resigned herself to the restriction. It was a short-term quarantine, a sensible precaution to prevent infection, to stop the disease from being spread. When she transformed, one bite was all it would take to infect someone, and infection was a crime.

She could cope with twelve or thirteen nights of isolation in the year. Besides, she wasn’t isolated, not any more. For more than five years now, Mark had stayed with her. Every full moon night, he was there for her, sitting outside her cage, watching, waiting and talking. He joked that it was the only time he could talk to her without being interrupted. It was a joke, but it was also true. Those nights were when he really opened up to her, at the times when she couldn’t interrupt, couldn’t reply.

Lavender looked back from the bar. Mark sat alone, occasionally glancing across at the three young men. She watched her husband affectionately. His dark brown hair was long and side-parted. It fell over his face and he absently swept it back across his forehead. As she waited at the busy bar to be served, she remembered this same night, two years ago, the night before their wedding. At about this time, she’d been sitting on her bed with her two bridesmaids.

 

‘One out of three,’ Parvati had said. And Susan had nodded in agreement, that smug smirk on her face.

‘What are you two talking about?’ Lavender had asked.

‘That’s what Mark scores,’ Susan had said, her lips were straight and serious, but her eyes creased in mirth. ‘According to you, Lavender, you were going to marry a man who was tall, handsome and extremely rich.’

‘Mark is tall,’ Parvati giggled. ‘So, that’s one out of three.’

‘Money isn’t…’ Lavender began.

‘Money isn’t everything,’ Susan interrupted. ‘That’s my line, Lavender; _yours_ is “money is the least important, of the three, but he must be tall and good-looking, and I will immediately fall madly in love with him.” And that didn’t happen, either, remember!’

‘So maybe money is worth only two points, and the others, four, so we’ll be generous and give him four out of ten,’ teased Parvati.

He _is_ good-looking, very good-looking,’ Lavender protested.

‘Really? When did you decide that?’ Susan asked.

‘Yeah, when you first started going out with him, you told _me_ that “he isn’t much to look at and I don’t really fancy him, but he’s polite, and he’ll do until someone better comes along”, Lavender,’ said Parvati.

‘And I was there when you first met him,’ added Susan. ‘I seem to remember you saying that, even though he was ordinary looking to the point of being a nonentity, he still managed to look weird.’

‘Sod off, both of you,’ she’d said. ‘I was wrong, okay? Anyway, that wasn’t the first time I met him, Susan, you know that. And he’s…’

‘The only bloke stupid enough to ask you to marry him,’ supplied Parvati.

And then they’d had a silly, giggly-girly-pillow-fight until she’d cried. Her friends, her bridesmaids had stopped and tried to comfort her. She had not been crying because she was worried about her wedding, but because she had finally come to the sad realisation that, impossibly, everything that Susan and Parvati had said was true.

 

As she walked back with two glasses of orange juice, Lavender observed the three young men from the corner of her eye. All were, in the main, dressed for the warm summer weather. They wore t-shirts, flat-soled shoes, and long shorts which were so low slung that they revealed baggy boxer shorts. That last was a recent Muggle fashion which Lavender found utterly incomprehensible. One boy also wore a woolly hat, a beanie, Muggles called it. It was ridiculous and completely unnecessary on a warm July evening.

The three were, Lavender realised, even younger than Mark’s estimate. She suspected that at least one of them, beanie-boy, was underage. Certainly, none were out of their teens.

They were all young, slim, active-looking teenagers, and they didn’t realise that it wouldn’t last. Beanie-boy was the smallest; he was snub-nosed and had a bad case of acne. The oldest-looking of the three was a shaggy-haired young man who had entirely failed in his attempt to grow a beard, though none of his friends had bothered to inform him of the fact. Or maybe they had, and he didn’t believe them. The third, a tall, curly-haired redhead, was quite good looking.

Lavender swung her hips and deliberately sashayed as she passed them. They paid her absolutely no attention. She was annoyed by this; her summer dress was low-cut and short, and she was still attractive and curvy; they should at least look at her.

Lavender inhaled. The smell of perfume and hag, her nose told her, was restricted to the unsuccessfully-bearded boy. He was excited and aroused, and he seemed to be doing most of the talking. Lavender caught the merest snippet of his conversation as she slowly strolled past.

‘…she’s gorgeous. She’s invited me to her party, and when I asked if I could bring a couple of friends, she said yes…’

Lavender sat back down in front of her husband, even more puzzled. When Mark began to ask questions she silenced him with a kiss and then placed her forefinger gently on his lips.

‘Wait,’ she ordered. Mark did as he was told.

She opened her handbag, pulled out her Auror wallet and opened it. Fortunately, the item she wanted was in one of the top compartments. The wallet, standard Auror issue, was enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm and contained almost everything an Auror might need. However, reaching impossibly deeply into it was never a good idea in a location where Muggles might see.

Lavender knew where everything was and she quickly pulled out a small packet containing an invisible Extendable Ear. Feeling for the receiver, she pushed it into her ear and flicked the Ear itself over her shoulder. The boy’s conversation was immediately clear.

‘How old is she, Josh?’ one of the boys asked.

‘If it’s who I think it is, then she’s ancient! She’s easily ten years older than Josh, twenty-eight at least!’ another boy said.

Lavender, who’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday less than three months earlier, growled angrily and frowned. Mark looked at her in concern, but she prevented his unspoken question with a glance. _Thirty is_ definitely _not old_ she reminded herself.

‘Oh, get knotted, Ed! She’s hot and you’re jealous,’ the third boy said. Lavender identified the voice as that of attempted-beard, who must be Josh.

‘She’s up to something, Josh,’ Ed said loudly. Lavender risked a glance over her shoulder and identified Ed as the good-looking redhead. ‘You reckon you’re on a promise, and you’re thinking with your bollocks.’

‘She got friends?’ beanie-boy asked.

‘That’s what she told me, Harve,’ Josh told him. ‘You comin’?’

‘Yeah,’ hat-wearing Harve said. ‘Wot ‘bout you, Ed?’

‘Somebody had better keep an eye on you two,’ said Ed the redhead.

‘So, what time’s this party?’ Harve asked eagerly. ‘We got time for another pint?’

The conversation then turned to beer and Josh went to the bar. Still eavesdropping with one ear, Lavender leaned forwards and told her husband what she’d overheard.

The boys’ conversation moved on to trucks, tricks, bearings and boards. It took several confused minutes before Lavender finally worked out that they were talking about skateboards.

‘So, what do you want to do, Lavender?’ Mark asked.

‘I’m going to follow them, Mark. I need to track down this hag. You’d better go home and wait for me. This is Auror Office business,’ she said.


	3. Penumbra

**3\. Penumbra**

Mark stared at his wife in disbelief.

‘You’re still on maternity leave, Lavender,’ he whispered through clenched teeth. ‘Why don’t you contact the Auror Office? They’ll send someone to investigate.’

Lavender curled her lips dismissively and reached into her handbag. Mark noticed the subtle change in background noise and realised that she’d wordlessly used a Muffliato spell to keep their conversation private.

‘Investigate what? There is something going on, Mark,’ she replied. ‘But what? Do you know? Because I don’t! I can’t simply tell the office that I smell hag. I don’t know enough about those three kids to report anything, not yet.’

‘Do you really think that this is worth investigating?’ Mark asked.

‘Yes.’ Lavender nodded so vigorously that her dark brown curls tumbled across her shoulders. Her violet eyes burned with a brightness he had not seen for some time, and Mark suddenly realised that “Auror Moon” had been missing. What surprised him most was that, until her sudden reappearance, he had not missed her.

For the past months he’d been living with Mrs Lavender Moon, Violet’s mother. She was kind, doting, funny and loving. But the woman he’d fallen in love with, the restless, passionate, committed, Auror Lavender Brown, had been in hiding since Violet was born. Suddenly, for the first time in almost a year, the Auror was sitting in front of him. He knew that Lavender loved a mystery, and this particular problem had obviously captured her imagination.

‘In that case, I’m coming with you,’ Mark said forcefully. ‘It’s full moon night, Lavender. I am _not_ going to allow you to go off by yourself.’

‘You’re not going to allow me?’ Lavender rolled her eyes disdainfully. Mark recognised the signs. Lavender was going to argue. She obviously expected that, as usual, he would back down. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mark, I’m an Auror; you aren’t. How on earth do you think you can stop me?’

‘You’ve been off work for over a year, Lavender. You were in St Mungo’s for over a week after Violet was born, and you’ve been on maternity leave ever since. Yes, you _are_ an Auror, and a good one. But you’re out of practice. And you’re also a werewolf, and it’s full moon night!’ Mark stared into her bright, excited eyes, watching carefully for her reaction. He could see arguments beginning to form. The wolf was preparing to pounce.

‘And more importantly than any of that, you’re my wife and the mother of our daughter,’ Mark reminded her with finality. ‘Either you let me come with you, or I simply step outside the Muffliato field and let those three kids know what you’re planning.’

Mark stared determinedly at her, and the wolf hesitated. With a degree of amusement, he watched his wife weigh up her options. He was careful not to show any emotion. Lavender could usually persuade him to do anything. Persuading her to change her mind would not be easy, because she hated to lose an argument. He watched her eyes narrow and her forehead crease. Suddenly, the creases vanished and she smiled.

There really were only two universal forms of persuasion: the carrot and the stick. In Lavender’s case, they manifested as “the promise of the girl” or “the threat of the wolf”. Recognising which way the wind was blowing, Lavender quickly changed tack. Her threat would fail, and she knew it. She quickly caged the wolf and turned on the charm.

Mark prepared himself for an even more dangerous onslaught.

Lavender folded her arms under her breasts and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. It was subtly done, but Mark had watched Lavender in action for years. When they’d first got together, as “just friends”, she hadn’t even thought of him as a boyfriend. With a slowly breaking heart, he’d watched her use her manipulative tricks and subtleties on other men. His wife was good, very good. With one simple move, she managed to pull her neckline lower, get close enough for him to be able to smell her perfume and give him a much better view of her cleavage.

‘Oh, masterful Mark, I love masterful Mark,’ she began softly. ‘But, I think that it would be safer if…’

‘No, Lavender, you’re no’ gonna win this yin!’ said Mark sternly, thickening his accent to show that he meant it. ‘Am awaa wi’ ye, right enough.’ He glanced meaningfully towards the three youths.

Lavender simply lifted herself up and forwards slightly further. She’d managed to lower her décolletage even more and he could now see the lace of her bra. ‘But, Mark…’ she began breathily.

He looked down at her chest, and then up into her pretty, heart-shaped face. Her remarkable eyes were sorrowful and she was pouting. She batted her eyelashes at him.

‘Put those away, please; they’re dangerous weapons,’ Mark told her.

‘I thought that you liked them,’ said Lavender, pulling up the front of her dress a fraction.

‘I was talking about your eyelashes, Lavender,’ he said smiling. The flicker of amusement on her face was enough to break her attempt at entrancement. ‘I know what you’re trying to do. But I’m not going to change my mind.’

Lavender continued to pout, so he reached across the table and stroked her cheek.

‘It could be dangerous, Mark,’ she began earnestly.

He sighed and played his final card. He lowered his hand, gently grasped her left hand and pulled it towards him. As he did so, he slid his hand down and held her ring finger between his forefinger and thumb. Lifting her hand, he kissed her finger, and the rings she wore.

‘I _am_ coming with you,’ he told her. ‘All that I am, I give to you, and all that I have I share with you.’ He reminded her of their vows, of the words engraved on the inside of their wedding rings.

Lavender looked contemplatively down at her hand. She examined her rings, the purple amethyst of her engagement ring, and her wedding ring with its ornate pattern of finely engraved lavenders. Her eyes then flicked to her fingertips, to the immaculate but false nails she wore, and the moment she examined her nails, he knew that he’d won.

‘Thanks, Mark,’ said Lavender. She stood, leaned across the table, grabbed his head in her hands and kissed him softly on the lips.

‘Hey, look at the arse on that!’ they heard Harvey mutter while they were in mid-kiss. Lavender was rather pleased, so she slipped round the table, sat next to Mark and kissed him again.

‘Really, thanks, Mark,’ she said again. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. I need to know that I will still be able to do my job when I go back to work.’

They nursed their drinks, cuddled, kissed and waited.

‘What do you know about hags, Mark?’ she asked.

‘Not much, they’re dark creatures and if we encounter one, we’re supposed to contact the Auror Office,’ said Mark. ‘I get the impression that they’re a bit like the witches in Muggle fairytales.’

‘Ugly, warty crones who eat little children,’ suggested Lavender.

‘Yes, but you forgot the gingerbread house,’ added Mark.

‘Gingerbread house?’

‘To lure little children to their doom,’ Mark told her, grinning. Lavender shivered and the smile fell from Mark’s face. He’d been joking.

‘I can believe that! Muggles know a lot more than they think they do,’ said Lavender. ‘It’s a good thing that most of them don’t believe it. No one is sure exactly what they are, and the hags won’t tell us. The Department of Mysteries files are full of conjecture, but the most popular theory is that they are the remains of evil old witches who use Dark and ancient Earth-Magic to prolong their lives. They can be very dangerous, but most of them aren’t. Most of them abide by the law, just like the vampires. There are rumours that they need to eat human flesh, like vampires need blood. They certainly like their meat raw. I know that Hannah keeps a stock of raw liver for one of her regulars. We know that at least one vampire has gone on a killing spree, but we haven’t had any reports of a killer hag since I joined the Auror Office. They’re moving!’ Lavender hissed the last sentence urgently.

The three young men finally finished their drinks and left, Lavender and Mark followed. They walked hand in hand through the streets of London, keeping well back from their quarry. They followed the trio up to St Botolph’s Church and on past Aldgate Station. On Middlesex Street, Josh went into a corner shop while the other two hovered nervously outside.

Lavender and Mark stopped. Ed looked down the street towards them. Lavender pulled Mark to a halt, turned and threw her arms around his neck.

‘Keep an eye on them. And let them move off before we follow,’ Lavender whispered. Then she pulled him down and kissed him passionately. Mark’s hands slid down to her buttocks; he grabbed them firmly and pulled her into him. For a few moments, Mark forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He closed his eyes, kissed her, and straightened up, lifting her off her feet. He considered Disapparating, simply taking her home with him. They had time before sunset, if they left now. Lavender had curled a leg behind his and was rubbing his calf with her heel. Perhaps she felt the same way.

Mark had almost decided to do just that when he remembered her instructions. He opened an eye and looked through her curls. Josh stepped out from the shop; he was carrying a bag which was obviously full of bottles and cans. The three young men looked towards them, turned and hurried off down the street. Mark reluctantly lowered Lavender to the ground.

‘He’s been buying some booze, I reckon. He’s out and they’re moving again,’ Mark told her.

Lavender slipped her arm around his waist and they set off after them. The three youths continued up Middlesex Street and then turned into a side road. Mark and Lavender, well behind them, walked quickly to the corner. By the time they reached it, there was no sign of the trio. Lavender cursed, looked around and sniffed the air.

‘Look at this,’ Mark said, pointing to a poster fixed to a lamp post. Lavender moved to his side and looked up at the plastic-covered printed plea.

“Missing boy,” the poster announced. The photograph was of a chubby teenager, and underneath it were the details of a sixteen-year-old who had simply vanished.

Lavender sniffed the air again. ‘The hag is close,’ she announced.

‘So is moonrise, Lavender,’ Mark reminded her. He was becoming more nervous as sunset approached. ‘There is a boy missing in this area, and there is a hag here too. You should call your office, get some reinforcements. “Aurors operate in teams of three for their own safety”; that’s what you always tell me.’

‘You’re a Law Officer, Mark, a Senior Bailiff. You’re my partner on this mission, and in life. I won’t need anyone else for one hag. I’ll be able to sniff her out in minutes,’ said Lavender, her eyes glinting.

‘You miss the action, Lavender; I know that you do. You like your work and you enjoy the hunt, but are you certain that you know what you’re doing?’ asked Mark.

Lavender simply pointed at the poster.

‘I can smell death, Mark. That boy is dead, I’m sure of it. I think we’ve got a man-eating hag in the middle of London, and three young kids have just gone to visit her,’ she said.

She sniffed again. ‘They can’t be far away, and my nose gets better the closer we get to moonrise. We’ll capture the hag and still have time to Apparate home before sunset. But you’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning, after moonset, for your wild and unpredictable. Sorry, Mark.’

‘Isn’t this wild and unpredictable?’ asked Mark, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

Lavender giggled and playfully smacked his backside. ‘I suppose that it is, yes.’

She led Mark along the side street and towards a long, three-storey, block of flats. The bland box of a building was no more than a line of weathered bricks and dirty windows, interspersed by grey concrete pillars. As they approached, Mark saw an open flight of concrete stairs leading both up and down to long landings at the rear of the building. Some enterprising Muggles had decorated the bleak, featureless stairwell with ornate patterns and names in colourful spray-paint. Again, Lavender sniffed.

‘Eugh! People have been using this place as a toilet.’ She wrinkled her nose in distaste and shuddered.

‘I know; even I can smell it,’ Mark told her sympathetically.

‘This way,’ she said. She clattered down the first flight of stairs to a landing which opened out into a squalid and rubbish-strewn car park. A few cars, none of them new, were parked in the yard. The stairs doubled back, leading down to a concrete path, much lower than the parking area and separated from it by a concrete wall topped with metal railings. The path led to six doors. Looking up from the landing, Mark saw that the upper floors were accessed by similar means.

‘It had to be the basement of course; most British hags live in caves,’ announced Lavender. ‘They never went for those chicken-legged huts that the Eastern European hags seem to like.’

Lavender sniffed the first door, shook her head and moved on to the next. They passed the first three doors, but when she reached the fourth, she sneezed.

‘This is it,’ she said.

Before Mark could protest, she rang the doorbell.


	4. Umbra

**4\. Umbra**

‘They were in the pub,’ observed Harve as he stared down the street.

‘What?’ asked Ed.

‘Those two!’ Harve looked back in the direction they had come.

Ed followed his friend’s gaze down the street and saw the couple. The brown-haired man was tall—a couple of inches over six feet, Ed reckoned. He was slender and wiry. When she threw her arms around his neck pulled him down to kiss her, his hair flopped forward over his face.

The woman was almost a foot shorter. Her dark brown hair was long, curly, and wild. The short summer dress was a plethora of pastel petals which clung closely to her curves. He wore blue chinos and a distinctive lavender-coloured polo shirt. They kissed.

‘Yeah, I remember that arse,’ said Ed. As he watched, the man slid his hands down the woman’s back, cupped her bum cheeks in his hands, and lifted her off the pavement.

‘Bloody hell, they’re a bit old for that, aren’t they?’ Ed said.

‘It looks like she’s desperate for it,’ groaned Harve.

‘Not as desperate as you an’ Josh,’ said Ed. ‘D’you think that they’re following us?’

‘Following us? Why would anyone want to follow _us_?’ Harve asked.

‘Maybe she secretly fancies you,’ suggested Ed sarcastically. ‘Although she’s got a funny way of showing it,’ he added as they continued to watch the couple.

As the two youths stared at the couple, she wrapped a leg around him and began rubbing his calf. Harve cursed.

‘Christ! Now he’s _really_ got his hands full,’ said Ed.

‘Got it,’ Josh announced, holding up the bag. ‘No problem, he didn’t even ask for my ID. What’re you two looking at?’ He followed their gaze. ‘Hey, they were in the pub.’

Ed and Harve turned to face their friend and saw the puzzled look on his face.

‘Yeah, you reckon that they’re following us, Josh?’ Harve asked eagerly.

‘You creep, Harve,’ said Ed.

‘Why should they want to follow us?’ Josh asked. ‘They’re probably looking for a cheap hotel somewhere. She’s his bit on the side, it’s obvious.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ said Ed sarcastically. ‘How, exactly, is it obvious, Josh?’

Josh gave Ed a rather dismissive look. ‘I was watching them in the pub, she was wiggling her bum when she walked back with their drinks, and then they were kissing and cuddling at the table. They’re both wearing wedding rings, so, they must be having an affair.’ He gave his friends a smug look. ‘If they were married to each other they wouldn’t be acting like that, would they?’ said Josh knowledgeably.

‘You’re right.’ Harve nodded ingratiatingly, and Josh looked smugly at Ed.

‘Huh,’ said Ed. He shrugged, realising that it wasn’t worth arguing.

When they reached the next junction, Ed glanced back over his shoulder.

‘That’s weird, they’re moving. They’re behind us again,’ he said.

Josh suddenly looked anxious and, the moment they were around the corner and out of sight of the couple, he ran. His two friends sprinted after him. They followed him up the street, into a smelly concrete stairwell, and down a flight of stairs. He walked along the litter-strewn concrete path; when he reached the fourth door he looked at his watch and rang the bell.

‘We’re a couple of minutes early, I hope that she won’t mind,’ said Josh.

The three young men waited, but there was no answer.

‘Maybe she’s gone out,’ suggested Ed. ‘If she really exists.’

Josh scowled and tried again. This time the door was answered almost immediately. The woman had blonde hair and wore a plain black dress, made remarkable only by its plunging neckline. She was holding a carved walking stick, Ed noticed.

‘Hello Josh,’ the woman said, giving the three youths an appraising look. ‘These must be the friends you told me about. Come in, please.’ She stepped aside, placed the stick behind the door, and ushered them inside.

‘Thanks, Anna. Are your friends here yet?’ asked Josh.

‘My friends?’ asked Anna. For a fleeting moment she looked surprised, but she recovered in an instant. ‘No, not yet, they’ll be here soon.’

Neither Josh nor Harve had noticed anything; they were both staring at Anna’s cleavage, which was extremely impressive. Ed, however, was suddenly wary. At first glance, Anna seemed pleasant enough to look at, but her nose was slightly hooked and her chin was rather prominent. She was very heavily made up, too, and she reeked of pungent perfume.

‘This way,’ Anna said. She led them along a white-walled and linoleum floored corridor into an almost empty living room. The dirty window was screened by a stained net curtain. It was difficult to see out, not that there was much to see. The view was of a brick wall, steel railings, the ankles of passing pedestrians, and the wheels of cars.

Ed looked around the room in distaste. The only furniture was a battered old brown leather sofa and a table laden with alcohol. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls, the room smelled damp, and carpet was a shabby, muddy brown.

‘I brought some booze,’ said Josh, pulling several cans and bottles from the carrier bag.

‘Thank you, Josh. Please, sit down.’

With a wave of her hand, Anna indicated the sofa. Ed was struck by how sharply pointed her black-painted fingernails appeared to be. Josh and Harve grabbed a can each, opened the ring pulls, sat on the sofa and took a long drink. Ed remained standing.

‘Sit, drink,’ said Anna, addressing Ed. ‘Loosen up a bit. You’ve come here for a good time, haven’t you? I can promise you an unforgettable night.’

‘Where’s the music?’ Ed asked. ‘You can’t have a party without music.’

He looked around. There were no electrical appliances in the room at all he realised, nothing! Everyone he knew had a telly, and a games console, and a laptop – everyone, it seemed, except Anna.

‘I’ve got music on here. What you fancy, Streetlight Manifesto?’ Ed pulled out his mobile phone, but to his astonishment, the battery was flat. ‘I only took it off charge a couple of hours ago…’ he began, but he was interrupted by the doorbell.

‘Are you expecting anyone else?’ Anna asked sharply, her eyes suddenly as cold and black as iron.

‘No, but you are,’ Ed accused her. ‘Your friends are coming round, have you forgotten?’

‘Not for a while,’ Anna snapped. ‘Did you tell anyone else that you were coming here?’

‘No,’ Josh assured her.

‘But…’ Harve began.

Ed managed to glare him into silence, but it was too late.

‘But what? It’s … Harve … isn’t it?’ Anna asked. She tried to smile sweetly, but the undercurrent of menace in her voice was rather alarming.

‘There was a couple in the pub … I don’t think that they were following us…’ admitted Harve.

‘You don’t think!’ Anna screeched. ‘It’s obvious that you don’t think. Foolish children!’

The doorbell rang again.

‘Wait here, say nothing,’ snapped Anna. She strode from the room, slamming the door behind her.

‘What the hell?’ said Harve, exchanging a worried look with Josh. Ed hurried to the door. It was an ordinary internal door, flimsy-looking and without a lock, but when he tried it, the handle wouldn’t budge. He motioned his friends to silence and pressed his ear to the door. Ed and Harve joined him.

‘Hello, you must be Josh’s friend,’ he heard a woman say. He thought he recognised the voice. It was the woman from the pub, the woman who had followed them. ‘I’m Georgina Sands, and this is my boyfriend, Andy Sawyer. Josh told us that you were having a party, an open house, he said.’

‘How does she know my name?’ Josh asked.

There were four thuds in rapid succession, and then a silence. The three boys looked worriedly at each other and stepped back from the door.

Anna raged into the room. Her skin seemed paler, her nose and chin longer, and her teeth a lot blacker than when she’d first greeted them. She was holding the carved walking stick in her right hand.

‘So,’ she screamed. ‘You told no one, eh?’

Her left hand lashed out and she raked Josh’s chest with her hand. Her black painted nails were now black iron talons. Josh screamed and fell to the floor, his t-shirt was in tatters. He looked down in disbelief as his blood flowed from four deep gashes across his torso. Harve squealed and made a dash for the open door, but Anna grabbed him and threw him onto the sofa.

‘Food,’ she said.

Ed had been starting forward to help Josh, but he stopped in amazement. Harve landed on the sofa and was swallowed by it. Ed was still staring at the now empty sofa when Anna grabbed his arm and threw him onto it too.

‘Food,’ he heard her say again, before he was consumed by the earthy-smelling brown leather.

There was a second of claustrophobia, as he found himself within the earth and unable to breathe, but then he was falling. He landed heavily on an unyielding rock floor, bruising his hip and scraping his hands. The place was pitch dark, but he could hear sobs alongside him.

‘Harve?’ he asked.

‘Ed? Izzat you? What the fuck just happened?’ said Harve; his voice was high and panicky. He sobbed and let out a stream of expletives.

‘Hey, watch yer language, laddie, there’s a lady present,’ a Scottish voice said.

‘I’m no lady, I’m your wife,’ the woman from the pub said. The man chuckled grimly.

‘Who’s here? Is it all three of you?’ the woman asked.

‘No,’ said Ed. ‘She’s still got Josh upstairs. He’s hurt, bleeding … she … she _clawed_ him. Who are you? Where are we? Can you help us?’

‘Damn! Are you free?’ the woman asked.

‘What do you mean?’ Ed asked, instinctively realising that “no we’re trapped underground in the dark” wasn’t the answer she wanted.

‘We didnae fall all the way through.’ the man said. ‘Our hands are trapped in the rock. We’re dangling in midair, _helpless._ ’ There was a huge amount of bitterness in his final word.

‘She’s got an earth staff, Mark,’ the woman said. ‘They’re really rare! I wasn’t expecting that, sorry. But she hasn’t recognised me, she doesn’t know who we are, we can still surprise her. She’ll be here soon. Let me do the talking, just back me up, agree with everything I tell her.’

‘Earth staff?’ asked Ed.

‘It’s um, it’s… a brand of trapdoor,’ the woman said. ‘It’s…’

‘Noise activated.’ The man supplied.

‘Shh…’ the woman hissed and he fell silent.

There was a strange, grinding sound and the darkness gave way to a dim light.

‘I’ll explain later,’ said the woman hastily and the room began to glow.

The light seemed to be emanating from the stone walls themselves. Ed took the opportunity to look around. He was in a large cave which had been roughly carved inside the earth. The walls and floor of the cave were uneven and cracked, and it was split into two halves. He and Harve—who was curled in a foetal ball and whimpering—were separated from the larger part of the room by a row of iron bars which were set solidly into the floor and ceiling. In the larger half of the room, the man and woman from the pub hung helplessly from the ceiling; their hands, and most of their forearms, were impossibly encased in the rock-like clay of the ceiling. He looked up; there were no trapdoors anywhere.

The woman had been lying, he realised, but all thought of that fled when he saw the cauldron, and the wall behind it. The cauldron was huge, it was large enough to fit someone inside, and it was full of water which was beginning to boil. The wall behind the cauldron was shelves, but they were made from what appeared to be human bones. Ed thought that he recognised ribcages and shoulder blades. He might have dismissed it, but there was no doubt that those were human skulls on the shelves, each with a different label: salt, pepper, mustard. He shivered.

The wall shimmered and Anna, or someone almost like her, stepped out from the solid rock. She was dragging a bloody Josh behind her. She had changed almost beyond recognition. Her skin was gray and her nose was a long and with a very pronounced hook. Her chin was jutting and warty, her fingernails were black iron and she was stooped and hunchbacked. She was using the stick to walk with.

She cackled, and the noise sent a chill up Ed’s spine.

With one hand she lifted the unconscious Josh up and held him against the bars. As he stared at her, Ed was pleased that the solid bars separated Harve and him from the rest of the room. But she touched a couple of the bars with her walking stick, and Josh fell through them.

Trying not to be sick, Ed staggered to his bloodstained friend’s side. The crone-like Anna turned away and faced the two who were hanging from the ceiling.

‘He said he didn’t invite you,’ Anna croaked. ‘I believe him. Who are you, and why are you here?’


	5. Luminosity

**5\. Luminosity**

Lavender began to cry. The tears which rolled down her cheeks were accompanied by a terrified, pulse-quickening wail. Mark looked at her in panic. He hoped that it was an act; but if it was, it was a very good one. It was certainly good enough to alarm him.

‘I don’t … understand,’ she stammered between heart-rending sobs. ‘What just … happened? One minute … we were standing in your doorway … the next … we’re down here … hanging from the roof … in a dark cave. My hands are stuck … and they’re really hurting … please get us down.’

‘Who are you, and why are you here?’ Anna asked again.

‘If … I tell you … the truth … will you … let us go?’ asked Lavender, between sobs.

‘If I think you’re lying, you’ll end up like him,’ said Anna. She waved her black clawed hands in the direction of the cage, where the bloody and barely-conscious Josh lay huddled with his friends.

Lavender squealed. She kept the fear-filled noise going until Anna stepped directly in front of her. The hag raised her talons in front of Lavender’s face, extended a single digit, and held it in front of Lavender’s eye.

‘Stop that awful racket, or I’ll give you something to scream about,’ ordered Anna. ‘Tell me now! Who are you?’

‘Don’t hurt me, please,’ Lavender sniffed and snivelled in desperation, a terrified young woman attempting to regain control of her emotions. ‘Please, just … give me … a … minute … to catch my … breath.’

Mark was now convinced that Lavender was playing for time, but her anguished sobs were so realistic he felt that his heart would burst. He needed to react, so he did.

‘Leave my wife alone!’ he demanded. ‘And let us down. Now!’

The hag looked towards him, gave him a black-toothed smile, and cackled. It was a harsh, guttural noise which held the malicious threat of something viscerally unpleasant. It was enough to make Mark’s stomach scuttle and squirm as it tried to tie itself in a knot. Anna gently stroked her right hand over Lavender’s cheek and down over her breasts before finally bringing her clawed fingers to rest on Lavender’s belly. She peered up into Mark’s face, and smiled. He cursed and struggled, trying to pull his arms from the rock, but it was impossible.

‘Husband and wife, eh?’ the hag whispered, looking thoughtfully into his face.

A tongue the colour of an indigo, pre-dawn sky flicked out and licked her lips. Her eyes were as black as her nails. She clattered her teeth together with an almost metallic snap. ‘And a baby, too. It’s a shame you didn’t bring it with you. I eat babies raw.’

Mark swore at her and the hag finally turned away from Lavender in order to face him. The moment Anna turned her attention to him, Lavender gave Mark an encouraging nod. He knew what was required. He needed to keep Anna focussed on him

‘And you love your wife. You’d do anything to save her, wouldn’t you? You’d even sacrifice yourself.’

‘Of course I would,’ declared Mark, as his intestines continued to entangle themselves. _This is what Lavender does,_ he reassured himself as he tried to fight his fear. _She has a plan. I hope she has a plan. She_ must _have a plan._

‘See that.’ Anna looked over her shoulder and pointed at the man-sized cauldron full of now busily boiling water. High above the pot, attached to the ceiling by pulley and a chain fastened to the wall, Mark noticed a black iron lid.

‘That’s for my next meal.’ Anna announced. ‘I prefer something young and tender, but that treat can wait. Those three stupid boys aren’t going anywhere. You two will do for now, although you’ll both take a bit of seasoning. Which of you will be first? Do you want to watch your wife being boiled alive? Or do you want to be first in the pot? You’re long and lean; I prefer a bit more fat, particularly on someone as old as you. There’s not much meat on you, but you’ll do as an appetiser.’

Anna licked her lips again, and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. ‘I’ll pick the flesh from your bones, then snap them open and suck out the marrow. Now, unless you want to see me tear your wife to pieces, you’d better tell me who you really are.’

The hag was staring malevolently at Mark, concentrating on filling him with fear; she was succeeding. Fortunately, she seemed to be unaware that Lavender’s sobs has long since ceased. Mark had watched from the corner of his eye as his wife brought her knees up to her chin and pulled her toes up high. Stretching her Achilles tendons to their limit. Lavender prepared to attack.

‘I’m Lavender Moon, Auror Office,’ she said simply.

Anna’s head whipped round to face Lavender. Mark caught the briefest glimpse of the hag’s startled expression before Lavender kicked out. Two stiletto heeled feet struck the hag with as much force as Lavender could muster. One connected with Anna’s head, the other with her chest. Lavender’s shoes were dragged from her feet by the force of the blow and Mark watched flimsy white leather footwear as it went spinning to the floor.

The hag screamed. It was a keening, shiver-inducing noise like metal on metal, and it set Mark’s teeth on edge. He watched as Anna reeled backwards, dropping the Earth staff she’d been holding and raising her hands to her face.

There was a lot of blood. Except it wasn’t blood, at least, it didn’t look like blood. An oily black fluid which glinted nastily in the light was flowing from the hag’s chest wound, but she was ignoring that injury. Both of Anna’s hands were covering her left eye, where more of the noisome liquid poured forth between her fingers. Mark was only vaguely aware that one of the three boys in the cage was letting forth a stream of expletives and a second was retching.

‘It’s time for this Moon to rise,’ coughed Lavender through an already altering larynx. ‘And I’m not going to fight it, Mark. Thanks for distracting herrrrr.’ The final word segued into a growl.

The moment she’d kicked out at Anna, Lavender had begun her transformation. Mark watched with his usual mix of compassion and sorrow as her back arched, her spine stretched, and her flesh flowed. Mark always wanted the transformation to end quickly, but this time it wasn’t merely to end her pain, it was a matter of life and death for all of them. The three boys in the cell joined in with Lavender’s screams.

Mark was used to the transformation, he’d seen it often enough, but his wife usually undressed before moonrise. He watched her dress rip as her body rearranged itself, as hairs sprouted and nose and mouth turned into snout and fangs. He’d liked that dress, and so had she, which meant that she’d be even more annoyed with the hag.

As Lavender’s hands became paws she slipped free from the ceiling which had held her. She dropped to the ground and the handbag which had been slung over her shoulder slipped to the floor. Landing on all fours, the she-wolf shook herself free of dress and underwear and howled angrily.

Anna squinted through her good eye and finally realised what was happening. She lurched forwards, bellowing foul curses. The hag desperately reached, one-handed, for the staff she’d dropped while continuing to press her other hand to her face. Her attempts to staunch the flow of black ichor which still suppurated from beneath her hand were unsuccessful.

The moment Anna moved, Lavender crouched and pounced. She hit Anna square in the chest, knocking her back against the wall and taking her further from the staff. The hag tried to lash out, but the wolf was too quick. Lavender backed off, snarling.

Anna grabbed a skull from the shelf and threw it, but Lavender dodged the missile and continued to retreat until she was standing over the Earth staff. With a cry of rage Anna leapt like a maddened tiger, diving desperately for the staff. But Lavender, too, leapt.

Wolf teeth grabbed the hag’s outstretched arm and twisted it, swinging Anna around to collide with the cauldron. _Twenty years,_ Mark thought in horror. That was the penalty for infecting someone with lycanthropy, the penalty for inflicting a single bite. For a moment, Mark thought that Anna would topple into the cauldron. To his disappointment she did not, not immediately. But Lavender released the cursing hag, backed off, and leapt again. On her second attempt Lavender hit Anna square in the chest. The hag toppled back into the boiling water with guttural wail of anguish.

Mark watched in disbelief as the hag began to dissolve. Anna grabbed the edge of the cauldron and tried to pull herself free. As she struggled, Lavender leapt to the wall and pulled at an iron latch with her teeth. The chain rattled and Anna looked up in horror as the cauldron lid rattled down from the ceiling and forced her into the pot with a cymbal-like clash of finality.

‘Is she dead?’ Mark asked.

The wolf shook her head.

‘No?’ Mark was astonished. ‘Is she trapped? Are we safe?’

The wolf, gave a contented bark, and nodded.

‘That was … amazing. I love you,’ he told her.

Lavender bared her teeth, and then yelped. Mark watched in astonishment. Lavender’s body was once again rearranging itself. It took almost a minute; but eventually his wife was standing in front of him, completely naked.

‘Bloody hell!’ said Ed.

‘Phwoar,’ said Harve.

‘Clothes, Lavender,’ said Mark.

‘Don’t have time!’ she told him through clenched teeth. She picked up Anna’s Earth staff and, stretching upwards, hit the ceiling between his arms four times. He fell to the floor, landing in an untidy heap in front of her. As he struggled to his feet, he moved slightly sideways forcing her to turn and face him. The three boys now only had a rear view of his wife, but even that view was one Mark enjoyed, and he was certain the boys would too.

‘Wasn’t certain I’d be able to change back,’ she gasped. ‘Never tried before! I didn’t fight the change at moonrise, but I’m fighting it now … forced myself back into this shape … struggling to hold it. You know that I’ll lose the fight at sunset, so we only have a few minutes. No time for questions, just listen.’ She crouched down and reached for her handbag. Pulling it open, she reached in and found her wand, and her husband’s. She waved her wand at the cauldron, turning off the magical flames beneath it, and conjuring several clamps to hold the lid firmly in place.

‘You can’t kill a hag, because they aren’t exactly alive. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but they’re the life-essence, the spirit of an old witch in almost-human form. It’s up to you now, Mark,’ she said urgently. ‘The hag’s trapped in there. She’s going nowhere so just leave her where she is. I’ll contact the office in the morning and explain to them.

‘The wounded boy needs healing, and all three of them must be _Obliviated_. If you touch the Earth Staff to the bars you’ll be able to release them from that cell. When you’re holding the staff you’ll be able to see the stairs she used. Get them all upstairs before you _Obliviate_ them. Once you’ve done that, take me home.’ She stood and hugged him.

He pulled her in close, sliding his hands down to her buttocks and ignoring the lust-filled groans from the three teens. ‘You were spectacular, Lavender,’ he told her.

She smiled, but pushed herself away. ‘I’ve got to go. I want to kiss you, but I won’t because don’t know whether I’m fully transformed. Bite-saliva … you know that this is a dangerous time, Mark … I don’t want to infect you. Happy Anniversary; I hope that it’s been wild, exciting, and unpredictable. I love you, Mr Moon, but your namesake is pulling me back. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Get those boys out of here.’ With that, she began her third transformation of the evening.

Mark picked up Lavender’s wand, put it back into her handbag, and pulled out his own. Picking up the Earth Staff he strolled over to the cage and began to carry out his wife’s instructions; she soon joined him, walking quietly to heel.


	6. Conjunction

**6\. Conjunction**

Ed was lost in a nightmare. The images were disjointed and fantastic: the woman who turned into a cackling, black toothed witch, the bubbling cauldron, the blood, and the werewolf who turned into a naked woman. He fought to retain that last memory, but a tall, floppy-haired man pointed a stick at him and everything went black. He awoke panting and gasping.

In the confusion created by the collision of reality and dream, he was unable to determine whether his racing pulse was caused by gut-wrenching fear or arousal. He was certain of nothing. With his first waking breath, the stench of stale booze assailed him; he was lying prone on something hard and uncomfortable. Cautiously opening one eye, Ed saw worn brown carpet; he was lying on an unfamiliar floor in a cold room. When he tried to move, he realised that his cheek was actually sticking to the carpet. His nose had already told him why, and his floor level view confirmed it.

The place stank of last night’s beer. Just in front of his face a green bottle of Carlsberg Export lay on its side. The bottle was not quite empty. He groaned, carefully prised his face from the sticky carpet, and slowly lifted himself onto his hands and knees. Blinking in the morning light, he looked around.

There were dozens of bottles and cans scattered around the room. Harve was sprawled across the sofa, his head bent and his neck cricked at an almost impossible angle. Given the half-remembered violence of his dreams, Ed might have worried. But Harve’s mouth was open, and he was drooling and grunting. Josh, however, wasn’t in the room.

Ed’s mind was suddenly filled with more memories of his nightmare; images of a dark cave and sharp claws, a bloody and dying Josh, and, even more bizarrely, a tall Scotsman with a pet Alsatian flashed in front of his eyes. Unable to make sense of any of it, he shook his friend awake.

‘Where’s Josh?’ he asked urgently.

Harve gave a grunting snore, groaned, and swore.

‘Wake up, Harve,’ Ed ordered.

Harve slid slowly sideways, moved his neck and grimaced in pain. He stretched, arched his back and let out a string of expletives as he whined about the fact that his neck was stiff. Ed, who had an uneasy feeling that there was more to worry about than a sore neck, simply left him to curse and walked over to the living room door.

Ed examined the door carefully before he tried to open it. It was a cheap and ordinary internal door, so the ease with which it opened should not have come as a surprise to him, but for some reason it did. He racked his mind, but could think of no reason why opening the door should have worried him.

As he walked quietly along the corridor, Ed cautiously peered into the other rooms. To his left was the kitchen. It smelled of mould and alcohol. The room was almost empty of furniture; there was sink, a table (which held yet more empty cans and bottles), and a single chair, but there was neither a cooker nor a fridge.

The door opposite the kitchen led into the bathroom, which contained a grimy bath, a filthy sink, and a toilet which was so nasty that it looked like it would fight back if you attempted to flush it.

The final door was partly closed. Ed cautiously poked his head into the room. It was a bedroom of sorts, although it qualified for that categorisation only by the loosest definition of the word. There was a mattress on the floor in its centre, otherwise the room was empty. There were no sheets, and no other furniture. A shirtless Josh lay alone and unmoving on the mattress. There was no sign of the woman, Anna, whose flat it was.

‘Josh?’ Ed hissed cautiously.

Josh sighed and moaned.

‘Time is it?’ Josh asked.

Ed looked at his phone, and then remembered. ‘No idea,’ he said. ‘My phone’s dead; battery’s gone flat.’

Josh groaned, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his own phone. ‘Mine too,’ he announced. He shivered. ‘Where’s my t-shirt?’ He asked.

‘Don’t ask me,’ said Ed. ‘Where’s that woman, Anna, gone? And what the hell happened last night?’

Josh sat up. He looked curiously down at his chest and then around the room. ‘I can’t really remember much. I think that me an’ Anna ended up in here,’ he said uncertainly, his voice a mix of hope, disbelief, and horror. ‘And I thought she’d scratched me.’ He looked down at his chest where there were the faint traces of a few red marks. ‘I was sure it was worse than that.’ He shrugged.

Harve appeared in the doorway. ‘Don’t you remember? Anna’s friends turned up, but they were a couple, not two girls, like you promised!’ said Harve petulantly. ‘They left soon afterwards, so we got drunk and watched some crappy horror film. Then you went off with Anna, and we went to sleep.’ He looked eagerly at Josh. ‘So what happened in here?’ he asked.

‘Can’t remember, sorry,’ said Josh. ‘Some of it is beginning to come back to me. This film we watched, did it have an ugly witch and a werewolf who was a girl, and she had no clothes on?’

‘Yeah, something like that,’ Harve said. ‘I was really pissed, so I don’t remember very much.’

‘I remember that film, too,’ said Ed thoughtfully. ‘But I don’t know how, because there’s no telly in this place.’

‘She must’ve taken it with her,’ said Josh.

Harve eagerly nodded his agreement, as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

‘Why would she do something like that?’ asked Ed.

‘Because this is a squat, don’t you remember? A security guard turned up, late last night. He gave us until this morning to get out,’ Harve reminded them.

Josh swore and struggled to his feet. ‘Tall bloke? Scottish accent? Had an Alsatian with him?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ said Harve.

‘I’d forgotten about him, said Josh anxiously. ‘Let’s get out of here before the police arrive. Mum would kill me if I got arrested.’

Despite his confusion, and his misgivings about the story—which didn’t match up with his own booze-befuddled memories of the night—Ed found that he, too, was filled with an uneasy fear, a need to flee the flat and forget all about it. He followed his friends to the front door.

Josh shivered again. ‘You’ve got a t-shirt on under that shirt, haven’t you, Harve?’ he asked. ‘Lend me your shirt, please, mate. I think Anna ripped mine last night.’

‘Night to remember!’ Harve leered, unbuttoning his shirt.

‘Apparently!’ Ed looked thoughtfully at his friends. ‘But, if it was, why can’t we remember it?’

The three youths stepped outside and closed the door.

‘Too much booze,’ Josh suggested. They hurried along the passage and up onto the main street. As they reached the road they passed two men and a woman. All three wore long black coats. One of the men was tall, burly, and shaven-headed, the other was small, wiry and lean. The woman was a slender blonde with her hair in a bun. The black-clad trio nodded politely, stepped aside, and let the youths pass before heading down to the lower floor.

* * *

After his third attempt to clean and repair the boy’s torn and bloody t-shirt failed, Mark gave up and simply _Vanished_ it. He picked up the plastic bag containing the beer he’d seen the boys buying little more than an hour earlier, and poured most of it down the sink. Leaving one bottle and one can in the kitchen, he scattered the rest all around the lounge. He then picked the one remaining full bottle from the boy’s carrier bag. Opening it, he placed it on the floor and kicked it onto its side. As he worked, Lavender padded silently at his side, somehow managing to radiate disdain for her surroundings despite her lupine form.

Walking back into the kitchen, he pointed his wand at the bottle and can he’d left there, and said ‘ _Geminio,_ ’ He repeated the spell several times, until the table was full of empty cans and bottles. Finally, he walked back through the flat, checking on the now sleeping boys. He’d _Stunned_ them, and then _Obliviated_ them. By the time they awoke, their memories would, he hoped, have shifted into something more ordinary.

Finally, Mark carried the boy with the straggly beard into the room with the mattress, placed him on the bed and re-examined his chest. His healing spell, combined with some Essence of Dittany from Lavender’s Auror wallet, had almost erased the boy’s injuries. He’d done everything he could. All he could do now was hope that Lavender would be able to sort this mess out in the morning.

‘I think that’s everything. Time to go home,’ he announced. Lavender nodded in agreement. Gently lifting the wolf into his arms, he Disapparated.

* * *

Lavender woke at the first spasm. She was lying on the floor at the side of their bed. It was a little after sunrise, and moonset was only minutes away. The transformation was a painful process, and its first bone-twisting twinges often woke her. She pushed herself up into a sitting position. Wolf-eyes looked around the room, wolf-ears pricked up and swivelled, and wolf-nose sniffed the early morning air. It was about half past five in the morning and her husband was sound asleep in their bed. They were alive, and all was well, or at least it soon would be. She stood on all fours and stretched.

Mark had been really frightened last night. She’d been able to smell his fear. But despite his panic, he’d taunted the hag, giving her an opportunity to attack. She’d never thought of her husband as a hero, at least—she reminded herself—not since the first time they’d met. He was nice, obviously, and brave, but heroic? Nevertheless, last night he really had been prepared to sacrifice himself for her, just like the noble hero in one of the romantic novels she read. 

Lavender padded across to their bedroom door. They had forgotten to lock it last night; they hadn’t even closed it properly. Failing to secure a werewolf was simply another crime to add to the list. Lavender loped out from their bedroom and along the landing. She scratched at a handle with her paw and managed to open the bathroom door. Walking inside, she pushed the door closed before ceasing her fight, and allowing the transformation to begin. Hopefully, in here, her groans wouldn’t disturb Mark. He needed his rest.

After transforming, Lavender opened the door and listened carefully. She could still hear Mark’s steady breathing. She’d succeeded, he was still asleep. Satisfied, she began her regular post-moon rituals.

Covering her legs, arms, armpits and groin with Glam-witch depilatory cream was the first stage. It was essential because, annoyingly, the change returned her to what was laughingly called her “natural state” and not to the well-manicured witch she presented to the world. The change was a monthly reminder that women, like men had hair on their arms, legs, and elsewhere.

Mark had once claimed that the hair didn’t matter to him, but he didn’t prevent her from making these preparations because he knew that it mattered to her. Once she was certain that the only hair remaining on her person was on her head, Lavender took a shower, cleaned her teeth, and began the final, most important, part of her transformation. 

It was strange the way that the transformation worked. Lavender mused once again about why it affected different werewolves in different ways. Dacia Skoll, the Auror Office Healer, was also a werewolf. Dacia’s transformation was always calm and assured and, when she turned back, her clothes reappeared too. Lavender’s transformation was completely different, it was loud, dramatic and clothes tearing, which was why she always tried to get naked before her transformation.

Lavender had discussed the differences with Padma, who teasingly, and rather gloatingly, told her that the prevalent theory in the Department of Mysteries was that the change was, to a very great extent, personality based.

While she mused, Lavender carefully trimmed her nails. She’d allowed them to grow once, but had discovered the hard way that she could inflict curse scars with them. Mark’s shoulders and backside still bore testament to that. Thankfully, Dacia had managed to minimise the damage Lavender had inflicted on her husband.

Make-up, a soupçon of mascara, lipstick, paint for her toenails, and the careful application of false fingernails were the final touches. Lavender carefully examined herself in the mirror and decided that she was, at last, presentable. The transformation back into Lavender Moon was finally complete.

Lavender wrapped herself in a towel, tiptoed downstairs, and used her Mirrorphone to contact the Auror Office. She checked with the reception wizard, and discovered that Dennis Creevey was on the night shift. Contacting him via his personal, and not his Auror, Mirrorphone, she gave him a brief, but comprehensive, verbal report. Dennis promised to call Terry and Susan to take care of the remains of the hag. By being out after sunset, she’d broken the law, but Dennis left her in no doubt that, even after fifteen years, Dumbledore’s Army would still take care of its own. It was a stupid law anyway, she told Dennis. He agreed.

She’d saved the lives of three Muggles, but Dennis would take credit for the capture of the Hag, and Anna’s disembodied spirit would be locked away in the Dark and Dangerous vaults at Azkaban.

Happy that she could leave Dennis to clear things up, she scampered back upstairs and into her bedroom. When she entered, Mark grunted and rolled onto his back, flinging an arm across onto her side of the bed. She checked the clock. It was not much after half-past six, it was still very early, but they’d had an early night. Mark, as he always did on full moon nights, had gone to bed the moment she was settled.

Lavender allowed her towel to fall to the floor and carefully and quietly opened the second of her three lingerie drawers. She pulled out the almost transparent black baby-doll nightdress she’d worn, briefly, on their wedding night and wriggled in to it. After applying some final drops of perfume to her wrists, neck and cleavage, she slipped into bed alongside her husband. She slid sideways until her shoulder was in his armpit and her breasts were pressed against his ribs. After kissing his cheek, she dropped her head onto his shoulder and slid her arm over his chest.

‘Hmmm,’ he said lazily. ‘Morning, Lavender, happy anniversary.’

‘Happy anniversary, Mark,’ she said. She kissed his cheek.

‘Have you sorted…’ he began.

‘Dennis Creevey is sorting things out for me,’ she said.

‘What about the staff?’ he asked.

‘Naughty Mark, you only ever think of one thing,’ she said, sliding a hand down over his abdomen. ‘But I suppose it’s our anniversary, after all.’

‘The hag’s staff, Lavender. It’s downstairs in the… Oh, Merlin!’

‘It can wait. I want to concentrate on _this_ staff.’


End file.
